


Just You

by sbdrag



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Spoilers, scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbdrag/pseuds/sbdrag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three scenes where feelings are discussed between Sherlock and John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just You

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know, but the scenes wouldn't leave me alone, so... this.

_After The Great Game_

“Is there anyone you do care about?”

“You.”

“What?”

John stopped. It was a few days after the whole mess with Moriarty, and the flippancy Sherlock had used when speaking of the victims had finally gotten under John’s skin. The former soldier’s temper had then escaladed, until he was shouting at the other man. Which was what led him to his final question, and the current situation.

John was standing in the doorway, and Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his back to the other. The world’s only consulting detective slowly stood, then turned. His eyes blazed into his companions, and he spoke very deliberately.

“You, John. I care about you.”

John blinked, then gulped. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He supposed this explained a lot. Why Sherlock never corrected anyone on the status of their relationship, why Watson seemed to be the only person able to live with the detective. And he supposed, if he were half of observant as Holmes, he would have been able to see it for himself. But, at the moment, he had no idea how to handel the other man’s revelation.

“Okay,” John said.

“Okay?”

Sherlock stepped closer, and analytical look in his eyes. John sighed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“What do you want me to say, Sherlock?”

The detective closed the cap between them, and John tilted his head up to maintain eye contact. The soldier refused to back down. Sherlock searched his eyes, and for some long moments, neither man moved.

“Okay. I see.”

And then Sherlock was gone and away, pulling his coat on as he made his way down the stairs. John sighed, closing his eyes. He felt it was going to be a long night.

As it turned out, he was wrong. When Sherlock returned, he acted as nothing was out of the ordinary, and John was grateful for that. The soldier hoped this meant the matter was done with.

Once again, he was wrong.

 _During the Christmas Interlude, after Sherlock’s speech to Molly._

“Sherlock! Sherlock, where are you going?” John called, catching up to the detective in the street.

“Out.”

“Sherlock, you can’t just leave.”

“Why not? It’s more comfortable to ignore the problem, isn’t it?”

John sighed, his breath fogging in front of him. At least Sherlock had stopped charging away.

“Well, yes, it’s more comfortable, but it isn’t fair to Molly-“

“You’re not fair.”

“I- what?”

Sherlock whirled around, advancing on the other man.

“You’re not fair. You get to care about everyone, even people you’ve never met. You can care for all of them, with varying degrees of intensity, and different kinds of caring. You care so much you don’t even realize you’re doing it. Not me. I don’t get to care about everyone.”

I’m not a psychopath, I’m a functioning sociopath. Get your facts straight. The words flashed through John’s memory, ages ago.

“Caring gets in the way of my job, dilutes facts into opinions, and opinions don’t solve murders. John, I can’t care.”

Sherlock pauses.

“But I do. There’s one person I truly care about, but they don’t care back. Not in the same way. And it isn’t fair, because they can care about everyone else, and I only have them.”

John said nothing, did nothing as Sherlock stared at him. The detective’s look was one the soldier hadn’t seen before, full of longing and lost. His eyes were dry, but overflowing with some bittersweet emotion. Then John sighed.

“No. It isn’t fair.”

Sherlock didn’t move, then smiled a little and turned.

John let him walk away, watching his back as the detective disappeared into the snow. He felt the urge to run after him, but he didn’t what he would say, what he could say. So he let it be.

It was only natural that the conversation was not mentioned when Sherlock returned later. John supposed it would always be this way with the detective, because, as usual, Sherlock was right.

It was more comfortable to ignore the problem.

 _After The Reichenbach Fall._

John looked for the keys to his flat, the one he’d been staying in since… then. He still didn’t like to think about it, and shook his head as he pulled the key from his pocket. He put it in, and turned until the door clicked. Taking the key back out, he opened the door, then stared.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock said, standing in the middle of the flat. John moved slowly, taking a step forward and pulling the door closed behind him. Sherlock watched, no, observed, waiting.

“Sherlock,” John said. “But how-?”

“Would you believe a miracle?” the detective asked, walking up to his friend. John gaped slightly.

“You were there. At the funeral… at your funeral, you were there,” he said, groceries slipping out of his hand. Sherlock’s mouth twitched up in a brief smile.

“I’m afraid so. I-“

John punched the detective hard enough that he stumbled back. The soldier’s face gave away nothing as Sherlock recovered. The detective laughed a little.

“I was expecting that,” he said, straightening. “Given your disposition and training, as well as my callous display of-“

And the world’s only consulting detective was silenced as John grabbed the front of his coat, pulling him forward to lock their lips together. After a moment, he pulled away. Watson opened his eyes slightly, not meeting Sherlock’s gaze.

“Now that,” the detective said, “I wasn’t expecting.”

“I…“ John swallowed. He was about as confused as Sherlock. Probably more so. He released the detective’s coat, and started taking a step back. “I didn’t-“

“No.”

It was the soldier’s turn to be silenced as Sherlock pulled him close, one hand around his waist, the other carding into his hair as the detective kissed him. John felt it all, the leather of Sherlock’s glove in his hair, the cold of his own clothes against the heat of the detective’s body, the subtle smell of chemicals and London air that clung to Sherlock. He shut his eyes, breathing it in, then twisted one arm around the detective’s shoulders as he sank into the kiss. Sherlock backed them up, until John was pressed against the wall. John made a muffled, surprised noise as he felt the detective’s tongue against his lips, but opened his mouth a moment later. Sherlock deepened the kiss without preamble, and John let him, hand digging into the detective’s coat as his fists clenched. After a few moments, their lips parted. They were panting lightly, breathing in each other’s air.

“I missed you,” John said.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said. “If you knew-“

“No. I missed you, idiot.”

Sherlock was silent a moment, then chuckled.

“I can’t stay.”

“How long?”

“A while.”

“Then why did you come at all?”

Sherlock’s arms tightened around John.

“For you, John. Just for you.”


End file.
